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POETRY OF OBSERVATION, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



WILLIAM ASBURY KENYON. 




BOSTON: 
WM. CROSBY AND H. P. NICHOLS, 

111, "Washinotok Stkekt. 

1851. 






BOSTON : 

PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, 

22, School Street. 



PREFACE. 



To the numerous and kind friends who have so generously 
assisted me forward in this appearance before the public 
I must render my grateful, hearty thanks. May they never, 
in a good enterprise, lack aid and encouragement like that 
which they have so liberally bestowed upon me. Undoubt- 
edly they have favored me to the full extent of my deserving, 
but their favor has encouraged, and made me earnest in 
endeavoring to come before them, here, with a befitting 
grace, and I would therefore much prefer that where blem- 
ishes are perceived they may be attributed to my Avant of 
ability rather than to any lacking of a desire for perfection. 
With this acknowledgment I now finally resign into the 
keeping of others these for the most part cherished efiiisions. 
Children of the muse, they are sent forth in confidence that 
they will meet a reception which is in just accordance with 



IV PREFACE. 

their merits, and that if they cannot add any thing to the 
goodness and beauty already existing in the world, they will, 
at least, contribute nothing for the support and strengthening 
of that which is evil, and much to be deplored. 

ELiiraHAM, Aug. 1st, 1851. 



CONTENTS 



Page. 

Poetry of Observation 1 

Introductory for a Lady's Album . . . .36 

The Merry Traveller 37 

Greeting to the Baltimore Oriole . . . .38 

Sensibility 40 

The River 42 

Now 44 

The Course of Guile 45 

Thoughts avhile Beholding the Mississippi . . 47 

Wisdom Unheeded 49 

Song of the Sailor 53 

Hymn in Prospect of Death 55 

Innate Law, a Sonnet 57 

Song of the Fortune Seeker . . . * .58 

The Catholic Faith . 60 

The Persuasion 61 



VI CONTENTS. 

Page. 

The Lover's Lament 65 

The Lover's Admonition 67 

The Dreamer's Soliloquy 70 

Look Up 74 

Passage from Metastasio 76 

An American Ode 77 

The Snow Storm 80 

The Sleigh Ride 82 

Hymn in Honor of the " Old Meeting-house " . 85 

Thoughts in our Cemetery 89 

Lamentation for a Beloved Daughter . . 91 
Lines addressed to a Bereaved Friend . . .93 

Lamentation for one who Died Abroad . . 96 

Elegy on the Death of a Young Lady ... 99 

The Eminence of Fame 102 

Hail to the Robin 104 



POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 



With crimson flush, the morning wakes the flowers. 
Lighting the drops that heavy hang their heads. 
Into the grove, vocal with melody, 
Come, let us walk ; but shun the dewy grass, 
Nor brush the dripping leaves along our path. 

How pleasant is this home of song ! How sweet 
This early incense of expanding buds ! 
How gay, how varied, and how rich, the flow 
Mellifluous of praise ! Above the rest, 
Methinks I hear the bold, full, native notes 
Of one who knows to hush all warblers else, 
With imitation and surpassing tone. 
'Tis he ! Lo ! there he sits, on yon tall bush, 
Pouring, with rapid change, his ecstacy. 
At every swell, upward he springs, " to hold 
The spirit back; " and, as the cadence dies, 
1 



2 THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 

He sinks with pure delight. No foppish dress, 

But a full soul within, and outward grace 

In every buoyant move, proclaim his rank, 

As, with extended wings, and glist'ning plumes, 

He sweeps around, expressive of his theme. 

The woodlark's mellow notes, with softened flow, 

He mimics now, and now the carol sweet 

Of linnet ; quick succeeds the raven's croak. 

And, lo ! down fly affrighted jays, to hide 

From the fierce hawk, whose cry, deceived, they hear. 

Thus he consumes, unwearied, the fiill hour. 
Could we decoy him to our care, his voice 
Might cheer our home with every lay of love 
E'er chanted in the wood, and, wondrously, 
The songs ourselves may teach he would repeat, 
Whistle up Watch, or, like him, bark aloud. 
Often, deceived, the rat would seek its hole. 
The hen haste, clucking, to protect her brood. 
And Patrick oil again his creaking wheel. 
So versatile of parts this mocking-bird. 

Ah, look ! That foul black reptile checks his song, 
Darting forked venom from wide-gaping jaws. 
He knows his mortal foe, nor flies the fight, 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. S 

But dextrously avoids the deadly bite, 
Plying his beak against the serpent's head. 
Fain would the foe escape. Not favoring thus, 
He takes it high in air, beating, with wings, 
The power of harm away. Now, dropped, it lies 
Stretched lifeless on the ground. Exultantly, 
Loud swell the victor's notes, and warn the rude 
Ne'er to assail his unfledged progeny, 
Nor dare his vengeance by too near approach. 

And we, thus early forth, are thus repaid. 
On this fair Summer's morn. But, homeward now, 
Let us consider those, of equal powers, 
Who ne'er, observant, taste the dear delight 
That so refreshes us. Why should it be 1 
Speaks not our nature in a joy so pure ? 
Let him attest in some vast London reared, 
When first he sees the spreading fields of green, 
The hills, and woods, and streams 'mid flowery shade. 
Like a new world of wonders, all delight. 
They stretch before him, until scarce the joy 
Of wedded Leon and Castile was more. 
When at their feet Columbus' trophies lay. 
The babe might answer, with its rattle pleased, 
The playful boy, that imps his father's grace, 



4 THE POETRY OF OBSERTATION. 

The maiden lovely 'mong her tender plants, 
And all deluded by the pomp of war. 
From the fixed gazing on a taper's flame, 
To the ripe reason's hate of all untruth, 
We prove the love of beauty thus inborn. 
And see those purer who have nursed it pure. 
And yet, how often one, provincial born. 
Downcast by some chimera, rushes on, 
Regardless of the chaste, refining joys. 
Blooming around us, wheresoe'er we turn ! 
Their soothing influence neglected all. 
We live a prey to every passing care. 
Forgetting that when worldly wealth is flown 
We have an ampler fortune at command. 
Proprietors, in common with our kind. 
Of our great Father's boundless realm of Good. 

There is in all things Beauty, — save in sin, • 
A loveliness by bounteous Nature spread 
O'er all her varied works, that would allay 
The fever of imaginary ills. 
Were it but entertained. Though Art in vain 
Essays a rivalry with grace innate. 
The limpid lake upon a sunny plain, 
The scragged oak alone beside the sea. 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 

The tamest object on earth's bosom borne, 
Hath living charms, unrecognized, perchance. 
But yet enjoyed, by every genuine heart. 

We may be dim discerners, at our best ; 
Yet, from the humming-bird one tiny plume, 
A petal from the least of all the flowers, 
Blooming in garden or in tangled wood ; 
Each one of all the thousands of the deep, 
Whether incased with scales or lucent pearl, 
Soaring in vipper waves, on wing-like fins. 
Or dwelling in resounding coral groves ; 
The diamond's dullest brother in the earth, 
Yea, every thing, in every element. 
Of whatever nature, or necessity. 
Though known by skill we cannot hope to reach, 
When viewed aright will purify the soul. 

He that attends to scrutinize minute. 
Wonders, while shown how high Intelligence, 
How vast the scale from human to divine. 
Enthusiast, he casts his glance abroad. 
And marvels human soul can be so numb 
As ne'er to feel how beautiful is earth. 
Oh for a voice electrical, he cries. 



6 THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 

To rouse the dreaming mourners of the world ! 
Awake ! awake ! if thou hast ever loved, 
Or known the sweets love sheds on all around ; 
Awake to light, to loveliness, to life ! 

Yet Nature's eloquence, if once perceived, 
Far more persuasive is than human speech ; 
And hence, but half-enlightened as I am, 
I would induce the melancholic forth. 
To see, from least even to the mighty whole, 
How all is beauty, all is love, all good. 

It was a mine discovered to the world. 
By one who scarce knew comfort, that he saw, 
In every pageant, and in all display 
Of human vanity, or pride of wealth. 
Beauty, devised by artifice of man. 
For his enjoyment, his admiring gaze. 
The stately steed, caparisoned with gold ; 
The splendid equipage, with silvery sheen ; 
The rustling silks of personal array. 
With all that harmony of blending hues, 
By maids of Cashmere, or more modern art ; 
The flash of jewels, and the summoned smile. 
Concealing sorrow, — all were meant for him, 
And all were his, or were not seen abroad. 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 

And it is truth as beautiful to know, 
That all who labor, labor for the good, 
To make earth fairer, and our life more loved. 
Some, by the art of letters, all aflame. 
Adorn our language, and refine our thought, 
Exalting, still, with wisdom, every hope. 
Some wield the painter's wand, the graver some, 
With multiplying power ; and, as these. 
The costumer, the master of the steps. 
And all familiar with or plough or spade. 
Have one same purj)ose of enhancing life. 

Often, enjoying, may we pause to see 
How like a stream our excellence has grown, 
Through the long cycles of maturing time. 
Acknowledging the silence that enshrouds 
More common blessings, numberless as free. 
Let us admire the graces that have shown, 
In all the stages of refining joy. 
From Homer's day, from Adam's, to our own, 
From saint Cecilia to songstress Lind, 
In buried Nineveh, and Pompeii, 
In Germany and Italy, so late, 
A host of conquerors, where shine, like suns, 



» THE POETRY OF OBSERYATION. 

Phidias, Virgil, Raphael, Mozart, 

Our present angels, and eternal friends. 

Many a lesson, profiting to know. 
And pleasant in the study, may be learned 
In the great tide along the gay bazaar, 
Pouring, continually, tramping feet, 
Clashing of carriages, and rattling drays. 
Not as mere gazing loiterers to stand, 
Here let us forth, commingling, as a drop. 
In the mixed stream of life. On either hand, 
Each mirrored front in various display. 
Pile after pile the lofty range extends, 
With crowned pilasters, arches, architraves, 
With dome and portico and pointing spire, 
And marble walls elaborately fair. 
In moments all our own we value these. 
Now, in the throng of thousands like ourselves, 
What forms and features multifarious. 
And yet so like ! Amazed, we recognize, 
At every turn, diversity of soul. 
As in a true kaleidoscope of life. 
With badge well known, so pensive, and so pale, 
Yon modest scholar wears a look of love, 
Though fronting him some soul empiric strides 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 

With hardness imperturbable and harsh. 
With mien majestic yonder hero steps, 
Conscious all eyes are lavishing their praise, 
For his good service. Passing him, brisk youths 
Eagerly onward press, and wire their way, 
Jostling, full oft, some richly spreading dame, 
Or neat-apparelled demoiselles, so fair 
They seem like birds of paradise astray. 
'Mong sober tradesmen, each a tested fact, 
Here struts a tom-tit, not a plume awry ; 
Here, from his verdant fields, a gazing boy ; 
And here a loud itinerant with wares. 
Such are the scenes presented by the town. 
Where, some in luxury, and some in sloth, 
Dense congregated men intensely live. 
Till once again they meet, 'neath bowery shade, 
'Mid sculptured monuments and pensive sweets. 
As erst, in still vast catacombs, they met. 
Gathered there all must be, their places here. 
Perchance, filled better, and, in treasured halls. 
We may behold accumulated skill. 
Where lives the spirit of their ages past, 
As relics more stupendous may be viewed 
In pillars, pyramids, a wondrous wall. 
Or temples various as times and climes. 



10 THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 

Some will thus wander through the wide-spread 
world, 
Gazing on old cathedrals, till the soul 
Is filled with grandeur, or subdued of awe, 
And still survey new phases of mankind. 
Or where bold ruins top the vine-clad hill. 
Or gorgeous palaces, with slaves in arms, 
Still show the proud magnificence of kings. 

But neither cities, hither or beyond, 
Nor classic ruins, nor rare gems of art. 
May lure to human shrines the gentle Muse. 
The fields, the fields, 'tis there God's altar stands ; 
'Tis there the Beautiful spreads largely free. 

Lo ! where the lake, soft shimmering at morn, 
Expands, irregular, fair hills among, 
While mountains, robed in azure, heave afar. 
Fresh fountain-streams adown the hill-sides leap. 
Now hid, now flashing from the green-wood shade, 
Then broadly flowing through the harvest lawn, 
Spanned by successive arches, to the sheet 
Bordered by crags abrupt, o'erhung with woods. 
By flowery banks, and shores of clear white sand. 
Here huddled wild-fowl sit upon the wave. 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 11 

Watching the bright variegated sky ; 
While, in the distance, glitters a cascade, 
With hues of beauty in its rising spray ; 
And, 'neath a dome of columns, on the slope, 
Stands man, majestic man, surveying all. 
Now gladly tinged by day's advancing beams. 

Thus might a pencil the fair landscape show. 
Yet one may say it seems not all unlike 
The mummy to the animated man. 
Creation, at her birth, obeyed the voice. 
Let there he life, and sudden all was life. 
Now, in the light winds play the forest-boughs, 
Whence wreathing smoke betrays the cot enshrined ; 
The white flocks roam, wild-sweeping, on the hills ; 
Flutterers, pluming, from the waters rise. 
Soar high above, or skim the surface o'er ; 
With swelling sails the light bark speeds along ; 
Fishes leap joyful up ; and those who toil, 
'Mid waving plenty, stooping as they go, 
Count heaps of treasure in the clustering sheaves. 

Among dense foliage, with glist'ning wings. 
In sportive chase, gay birds dart here and there ; 
The pebbly stream, kissed by o'erhanging shrubs 



12 THE POETRY OF OBSEEVATION. 

And scented flowers, trolls on with dulcet song ; 
Or, where gay trout glide, beauteous, below, 
Mailed flies skim lightly on its glassy breast ; 
Glad bees, with laden thighs, industrious, 
Deep within every blossom search their store ; 
The busy ant collects her winter's grain ; 
Myriads of insects gladden all the air ; 
And, on the green beside their nursery. 
The sports of young immortals ring with glee. 
Nor only this. The toiler's sense regaled 
With mingled incense of unnumbered flowers, 
His ear imbibes the harmony of praise 
From rills and waterfalls and swaying boughs, 
From herds and flocks and flitting choristers, 
A wild spontaneous concert of sweet sounds ; 
And, as his eye oft catches the glad scene. 
The while he stands to cool his noble brow. 
His heart, attuning, swells the general song. 

And shall not labor in the chorus chime 1 
Scarce need we cite, so loud its busy hum. 
Art's fane of industry, with myriad wheels. 
Or even the city's vaster, noisier hive. 
Roused by the cheerful robin's morning hymn. 
The ploughman early guides his team afield ; 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 13 

The " village smithy," next, is heard afar, 

Where heavy blows, alternate, scatter sparks, 

And breathing bellows urge hot roaring flames. 

A jolly neighbor flattening the sole. 

His quick raps mingle in the tinker's din, 

Rattle of empty boxes, hoisting sails. 

Innumerable hammers, axes, saws, 

And oft long sweep of smoothly shaving planes. 

Melodious, adown its pebbly path 

Dashing, the clear, cool brooklet leaps and showers 

O'er the huge wheel that turns the clattering mill ; 

While, from the cliff, the wagoner's loud shout 

Echoes, in concert with his wain so slow, 

Or with some woodman's wide-resounding axe, 

Or evening call of herdsman at his door, 

Or milk-maid's song, or whistling farmer's boy, 

Ev'n till the startling curfew, whip-poor-will. 

True, if with bending branches, red with fruit, 
To fill, as garners, hearts with joyous thanks, 
Autumn sweeps past, in ever-rustling robes, 
Scattering the brief tints her white step leaves. 
Then all the naked forest oft is still. 
Save where the squirrel, leaping, runs and stops. 
Or, from his nimble paw, a nut lets fall. 



14 THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 

Yet such is not. Now neither sighing gusts 

Whirl, o'er the darkened stream, sere withered leaves, 

Nor driving sleet on cheek of mariner. 

At helm or main-top, shows him, far away, 

An evening circle round a social fire. 

Securely hearing the loud storm without. 

That spreads o'er all things deepening folds of snow. 

The poor's inexorable months have passed. 

The shorter days have lengthened, and the roads. 

Long blocked, have let us forth, and we have seen 

The pines at noon shake off their snowy load ; 

And one still morning, after freezing rains. 

The sun, upon the branches of the trees. 

Has shown us myriads of sparkling gems. 

The jewels vanished, and stern Winter ceased. 

Ceased have the merry sleigh-bells passing swift, 

Mingling in chorus with the light of heart ; 

Shoutings hilarious, and ringing steel, 

Where frosted tree-tops and clear frozen stream 

Glitter with night-fires, 'mid a flitting throng. 

All have departed, by gay Sprihg pursued, 

Who breathed on all things gently, as she passed, 

With her warm touch awaking them to joy. 

In her green mantle. Summer smiles once more. 

The happy season when, by Nature moved. 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 15 

Cits throng the sea- side, or far mountain wild, 

To taste the glories of a rural week. 

How sweet its contrast to the town's hot walls ! 

Now by the river's glassy smooth expanse. 
When labor's task is over for the day, 
And softer moonlight sheds mild influence 
O'er woods and waters, lovers, hand in hand, 
Along the sandy shore delighted walk. 
Listening love, while music, ne'er so soft. 
Steals from some unseen shallop o'er the waves. 
And while the stilly night reigns over all, 
Sometimes, though dimly, a lone deer is seen, 
Stooping to drink within the darkened cove. 
And if, perchance, as oft is heard, he hears 
The lonely watch-bird calling from her post. 
Backward his antlers thrown, he lists awhile. 
Then turns to browse again, while, silently. 
Still shines the glow-worm for her winged mate, 
And plants in field, or fairer gardens reared. 
Noiseless, from dews, drink nourishment for man. 

So sweet our pleasure simply to behold. 
But who shall seize, to tell, the subtle rays 
Shooting, like beams of day, athwart the heart 



16 THE POETKY OF OBSERVATION. 

That adds to seeing knowledge, ev'n its dawn 1 
If at Cholulu, or yet elder Thebes, 
The pilgrim tarry, something known its worth. 
How quickly, then, he wishes for the light, 
Or faint obscurity, such as invests 
The ling'ring tokens of Athenian pride, 
And gives a Roman Mausoleum voice. 
Makes it a monument, that, like a tale, 
Comes up to us from the long-buried Past ! 

Oft, as along the beauteous, olden Rhine 
The pensive wanderer his pathway wends. 
From some stern castle frowning o'er the steep, 
He sees out-rushing a fierce mail-clad band. 
That, like an Alpine avalanche, descends 
On the sweet smiling village at its foot. 
They plunder the defenceless ones, and weak, 
And ne'er a voice of murmur dares be heard ; 
For he, the castle's lord, their patron is. 
The sole protector from a world in arms. 

Such are the storied piles that linger there, 
And, 'mid our tokens of advancing life, 
Many a mound on fair Ohio, still. 
Had it a tongue, like savage deeds might say. 



THE POETRY OF OBSEEVATIOJT. 17 

Yet, Nature still is whispering of peace, 
And with but one familiar in her lore, 
To join our walks, and point us to the Cause, 
And show the fitness of created things, 
We might all read, in characters of love, 
This earth's great story, with its creatures all. 
And see new beauties in the light come forth. 
Like rainbow tints, enlivened by the sun. 
The leopard, lion, and the tall giraffe, 
The blithesome linnet, and swift ostrich, then. 
Our admiration would more deeply move. 
And even our fruitful gardens, and parterres. 
Augmented labor richly would repay. 
Then should we, soon, with loving, learning eyes, 
Perceive how bounteous our blessings are. 
Where germs upheave the mold, and, waxing tall. 
Put forth new leaves, and twigs, and tender buds, 
Unfolding delicately, to evolve 
Elaborated fragrance, and mature 
Each an out-rolling harvest of its kind. 

There is yet other culture, whence may flow 
Yet higher joys, but here I must forbear, 
For how shall he who never tasted tell 
A father's happiness, who, day by day, 
2 



18 THE POETKY OF OBSEKYATION. 

Feeds the young charge committed to his care, 
Watching the soiil's development, with prayers 
For strength and wisdom to direct it right, 
And seeing, day by day, increasing still, 
Love, pure as angels', in those tender eyes. 
And tiny efforts to delight himself. 
Till all his care weighs nothing in the scale. 

And, since not of the father, how of her 
On whose warm bosom lay the nestling babe, 
For its first sustenance, and ceaseless care. 
Ah, lovely scene ! Pure spiritual germ ! 
What blessings greet your coming to the world ! 
Left not, like some, to harden, without hope, 
Both soul and body savage by neglect, 
But, nursed, and cared-for, like a prize from heaven, 
Matiu'ing in the tenderness of love. 

Well may untutored pens leave tasks like these, 
And well may more devoted ones deplore 
The hapless lot of him who, late in life, 
Knows but the pleasure of observing, here. 

Fain would I still transcribe the beautiful, 
From nature's ample page. But other scenes 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION-. 19 

Reveal the grandeur of His handiwork, 
With whom earth's varied features are but one, 
From vales luxurious with constant bloom. 
To bleak, eternal ice-fields, without end ; 
From the dumb reptile pent within a cliff, 
To life's supremest excellence, and worth. 

Let him who loves to trace the sterner lines 
Up the huge Cordilleras toil with me. 
Climbing the craggy steep, and grasping twigs. 
To hold him from the dizzy gulf below. 
Oft, as we mount, down tumble loosened rocks, 
Thund'ring impetuous, till they reach the vale. 
But, never daunted, with a purposed eye. 
Fixed to the summit, still we struggle on. 
Till joy and wonder all else overcome. 

How vast, how wide the scope of vision here ! 
What wild confusion, what deep awe prevails ! 
High reaching peaks rise, numberless, around. 
Black, bleak, and solitary. Vales beneath. 
With all their lakes, woods, rivers, darkly lie. 
Spreads on the other hand the distant main. 
Whence, now, the sun, with his last glancing beams. 
Shines on the mountain caps. Stand here, alone, 



20 THE POETET OF OBSEKTATIOy. 

And say what big emotions heave thy breast. 

While night draws round, the stars step, noiseless, 

forth, 
And she, their silvery queen, smiles over all. 
Below, far, far below, dim lights bespeak 
The humbleness of man. Above, the stars, 
Spangling immensity, withdraw the soul 
In meditation's most admiring deeps. 
The dwelling place of majesty is here. 
Dark, and profoundly hushed. O thou dread Cause ! 
Creator, Architect, and Builder, God ! 
Say, if not incompatible with Thee, 
By those innumerable, distant orbs. 
Diverse all, and dependent each on each, 
"What divers beings have their various good. 
For greater good, and glory of their Source I 
Is earth, in Thy wide universe, a dot ? 
Its age, in Thy duration, but a point ? 
What are its dwellers I Whence, and whither ! Why ? 

Bewildered thought returns. Thicker around. 
Night and condensing clouds envelop all. 
The moon's benignant smilings disappear. 
Startling, the eagle shrieks upon the night. 
Wildly and fierce, darting before the storm. 



THE POETKT OF OBSEHYATION. 21 

Now threat'ning devastation to the vales. 
Winds rusliing furious rive crags away. 
Void, dismal sound ! Flashes a sudden gleam, 
Swift whizzing through the air. Repeated quick, 
With roar continuous loud thunders burst, 
As the arched heavens, o'er these mighty hills, 
Fell, crashing, and let loose the fires of wrath. 
Terrific all, around, above, beneath, 
Is one convulsive, fitful flash, and peal 
Reverberated deep, from hill to hill. 

What, 'mid this elemental stir, seems man 1 
His proud, base thoughts, his gloomy dulness where 1 
Exults he in his fresh'ning breath of life ? 

But lo ! the storm, descending, vents its force 
Beneath yon mountain's brow. At intervals, 
The vivid gloamings, lighting sea and sky, 
Disclose a found'ring vessel, tossing dire. 
With unheard flashing gun. Ah ! hopeless prayers ! 

More, and more distant, dies the storm away. 
Unveiled the moon appears. Slow, up the cliffs. 
The white mists dimly curl. Comes from below 
The noise of swollen streams. All else is still, 



22" THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 

And silvery azure streaks again tlie East, 
Presaging day's return, return of light and life. 

Let us, returning, learn what scenes appear, 
What beauty, what sublimity, in life. 

Akin to mountain grandeur is beheld 
Where from the mass a noble mind upheaves, 
AVith powers devoted to the common weal. 
This well, Horatio, hast thou displayed. 
Not without honor, merit's meet reward. 
Both base and cap-stone of yon glory shaft, 
Though reared for heroes past ere thou wast nigh. 
By spirit hands are blazoned with thy name. 
Yet, monuments of stone may melt away. 
Ere the stupendous fabric thou hast reared. 
Shall cease among the good. Thy solid fame, 
Based on its native quarry, rose, self wrought. 
Pile after pile, in honor fixed and sealed, 
Soaring towards heaven, each succeeding course 
More firm and beautiful, more lasting still. 
While shouts, approving, bade it still ascend. 

Of late a gath'ring cloud hung dark around. 
Menacing danger ; but its altitude 



THE POETRY OF OBSERTATIOX. 23 

Looked o'er unmoved. The threatened storm dis- 
persed, 
And cheering rays of approbative joy, 
Now smile upon its sides. I saw thee stand. 
In thine own strength, to brave the tempest's shock, 
"When ready, nigh, to burst. A man thou seem'd'st, 
A man, as nature ordered, and thine eyes 
A full, unfathomable sea of soul. 
I gazed enraptured, caught thy glowing words, 
And felt my breast heave high with happiness, 
Conscious my country owned a worthy son. 
My thoughts flew back o'er ages buried long. 
I stood within those sculptured walls where Art 
Thronged battles, trophies, gods, and conquerors. 
A sea of freemen's upturned faces gazed on one 
Whose words, like winds of heav'n, made billows 

heave. 
In roused emotion, while, at intervals. 
To some charged period's flash of eloquence, 
Applauding thunders made the rough walls ring. 

Nor was this all thy greatness. Thou stood'st there 
As one who could maintain his country's boast. 
Who dared, with justice at his back, be free. 
I heard thee warn thy country's heated blood 



24 THE POETRY OF OBSERYATION. 

Of reckless faction's bane, presaging, wise, 
Mild treatment would restore the flush of health. 
A life of service, noble, constant, true. 
Pointed each word, as with convincing steel, 
To grave its virtue, living, on the heart. 

But, if life has its mountains, there are hills, 
And scenes of beauty scattered o'er its plains. 
Behold yon happy brotherhood, for love, 
Devoted each to each, and all to all. 
Yet, better is to see a nation thus, 
A whole vast people ruled by like desire 
Of winning all heart-ease ; and richer, still, 
The privilege to see a land rejoice. 
And feel assured its good has been enlarged 
By sacrifice of ours. Yea ! happy he, 
Though reared among the rudest, happy he 
That in his walk may see one other's joy, 
And say, This had been sorrow, but for me. 
How blessed, then, a life of doing good, 
And how delightful, musing, to behold 
His high career who loves his life the more 
For bliss it gives, in helping on his kind. 
On towards the perfect, whither, still, we tend, 
With growing swiftness, good attracting good. 



THE POETRY OP OBSERVATION. 25 

Who has not been delighted, as he saw 
Two neighbors, differing in modes of thought, 
Turn from dissension, with glad kindly words ? 
Peter and James in wrath had striven long. 
But either, humbled, seized some slight pretext 
To beg a favor of his mortal foe ; 
And, after, none so loving lived as they. 
And all the neighborhood partook their joy. 
Kindness is, truly, like a heap of coals, 
And melteth anger like the spring-time snows. 
Yea ! were our very selfishness but wise. 
We should embrace occasions to give joy, 
Eager as many now do to aggrieve. 
Soon would the beauty of that, now, hard law, 
Lead us to love our neighbor as ourselves. 
But, ah ! a pity seems it that we learn to live 
Only by drawing nearer to the grave. 

To the more lowly let us tui-n our gaze. 
Yonder a lovely pair go, hand in hand, 
Adown the vale, their days as pleasant dreams, 
'Mid shady groves, fruits, flowers, and murm'ring 

streams ; 
Their chief enjoyment each in other's joy. 
Both studious of good, good their employ. 



26 THE POETRY OF OBSEKVATION. 

Their cot, just seen, 'mid shrubbery and flowers. 

Knows not more boist'rous sound than song of praise, 

"At each return of even, and of morn." 

From indigence removed, nor toil they scorn, 

Nor charity, nor deeds Samaritan. 

The good of all his care, his earnest voice, 

Upholding virtue, blends with all his deeds, 

"While she, fi'om door to door, seeks needy woe. 

At eve, around their hearth sweet offspring come, 

With tales, and playfulness ; some climb the knee, 

Delighting much the hoary grandpapa, 

Who bends with honors, in his antique chaii*. 

Others rehearse the wisdom this day gained. 

All either nature, or the school has taught, 

Or what accomplishments themselves have made. 

Thus, on both old and young, time's pinions soft 

Leave but a gentle impress, as they flit. 

The village near them is a happy scene, 
Where all, as kindred, live in kindly love. 
By sweet attentions, with demeanor mild. 
Ameliorating each all others' care. 
This knew the gentle orphan Earnest, well, 
For as he, struggling, toiled, to smooth and cheer 
His poor, blind mother's down-hill side of life, 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 27 

Oft had he met with kindly words, and smiles, 
That kept his heart alive, with strength to do. 
Many a maiden, there, had smiled on him, 
As if to bless him for his filial care. 
And seemed it him that one, but seldom seen, 
Would never lose her goodness in his heart. 
Often, in darker hours, that glimpse of heaven, 
In her remembered smile, would come again, 
So that he longed to do some noble deed. 
To make him worthier a boon so high. 

But, ere his days yet many were, he died, 
Though not the memory of how he strove. 
Long will those villagers repeat his name. 
With fond affection, for the good he wished. 

And Earnest is not all the name they love. 
'Twas here that when the lovely Seraph died, 
Whose brief existence had been like a flower 
Delighting unobserved, a melody 
Scarce heeded till it ceased, until it left 
A painful sense of loss, the village all 
Flocked to the burial, to mingle tears 
With the sore stricken father. Ah ! how sore ! 
She to his widowed home had been the life, 



28 THE POETEY OF OBSERVATION. 

A spirit beaming with continual bliss. 

Now, there she lay, a pure white lily bud 

On her stilled bosom holding, cold as clay. 

Her dear companions had an emblem sought ; 

And others, out of love less known, had come, 

With each a token, saying she had once 

A smile on them bestowed, or cheering word. 

Or some small gift, accompanied with grace 

That made it very dear. Thus, 'mong the flowers 

In sweet profusion strewed upon her bier, 

A broken harp lay wreathed, and, richly wrought. 

Her name and features, in a halo light, 

Were represented fixed in many hearts. 

Among her kindred stood a manly youth. 
Most bowed of all, crushed down, and sick of soul. 
As blithely in the spring-time pair the birds, 
He and the dead had been love chosen mates. 
And with her, now, his dearest hopes were fled. 
Near him, in deep habiliments of woe, 
His kindred stood, as mourning for their own, 
And all their neighbors loved them, as they wept. 

! 'twas a sight, so much of sympathy, 
To make one of his human nature proud. 



THE POETKY OP OBSERVATION. 29 

Yet, such are common here, where all esteem 

True moral beauty as the flower of life. 

Where Confidence grows large, 'twixt man and man, 

And woman feels how dignified her post. 

Who has the moulding of the future world. 

Here none, exalted, seem superior. 

But every mind is conscious of itself, 

A sparkle of irradiance divine, 

To gather brightness, by inherent powers, 

As angels draw, progressive, towards the throne. 

Labor is not a burden here, a pain, 

But, soothed by joys ennobling to the soul. 

Afield the farmer goeth like the lark, 

The artisan is joyous in his shop. 

And he who serves, or teaches, smiles with love. 

Thus life grows lovely, with but little care. 
The fairer partner, who her home adorns. 
Adorns herself with wisdom of great worth, 
While children, nurtured in so sweet a home. 
As nature nourishes, attractively. 
Grow up as fitted for a sphere advanced. 
Weekly, to hear of wisdom, all convene, 
The friendly courtesies exchanging there. 
And, when glad Summer smiles, they sometimes go, 



30 THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 

Parents, and children, all, into the grove, 
To spend a joyous day, their social songs, 
With songs of birds, and sounding instruments, 
Commingling in the happy school display. 
Until youth loves the lessons he had loathed, 
And all, refreshed, elated are with good. 

But come again to the good family, 
"Whose happiness has spread itself so wide. 
Here oft a neighbor socially comes in. 
To pass an hour on some deserving theme. 
The last heard sermon, or the next week's vote. 
Or truths new dawning on the world of thought. 
Thus they determine of their country's good. 
Their hospitable door is ever quick. 
To welcome nightfall's weary traveller. 
Unmindful of return. He, thankful, sees 
That ample hearth send up a bright' ning blaze. 
The matron, cheerful, spread her staunch repast, 
And all assume the smiles of kind respect. 
Solicitous of news from other parts. 
Refreshed, his narrative of life he gives. 
Whence come, and whither, now, his journey wends. 
The sire his thrilling story then relates. 
The tale familiar of Columbia's rise. 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 31 

How, long ago, when recently had broke 

The moral morning, o'er that elder world, 

Where Darkness labored to repel the Light, 

And Persecution hunted human prey, 

The pilgrim family, 'mid Winter's blasts, 

On these bleak shores sought Liberty, sought Life. 

Awhile, in peace, they worshipped Him they loved, 

And, 'neath His care, an envied people grew. 

But, soon, the foster hand whose rule they shunned, 

O'ertook them here, their freedom to subdue. 

Then, as rose Brutus, from the tyrant's thrall, 

This infant nation stood before the world. 

Singly, confiding in her righteous cause. 

Nobly she struck, then trembled for her fate. 

The world looked on in awe, in fearful doubt. 

But noble spirits, who might else have slept, 

Arose and nerved the one-voiced people on. 

Just judging youth, too, came from realms of kings, 

And, by heroic deeds, won lasting love. 

My children, warmly says the hoar old man. 

My children, bid your children's children sing. 

To latest ages, honor to their names ! 

Behold these scars ! Think not too cheaply bought 

Our claims for grateful praise. Few, now, like me, 

Enjoy this bounty of their sweat, and blood, 



32 THE POETRY OF OBSEETATION. 

And soon must I be summoned to the host. 
Yet, not unsolaced shall I hence depart. 
To me this land's prosperity exclaims 
Well done, thou faithful servant of the good. 

Ending vnth. tears, as he resumes his chair 
Electric fervor shakes that old man's frame. 
Soon, pleased, he hears, responsive from each breast, 
Assurance all in memory must live. 
Glorious, over whom shines Washington, 
The world's grand pattern of a noble man. 

To cheer the father, on his eve of rest, 
Then guest and host unite in Freedom's song. 
Of love, and praise, and thankfulness to Heaven. 
What need his country fear, her sons like these ? 
Yea ! all so pure and earth itself were heaven. 

But, while some chant their home of Liberty, 
The bard would sing high praises to the power 
Who may display her many varied charms. 
And warm, with grateful ardor, o'er the good. 
Join ye whose hearts in unison may sing. 

Hail heav'nly Poesie ! benignant Muse ; 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 33 

True lineal offspring of the Sire supreme, 

The great first Poet, Author of the World, 

Fair prototype for thy blest votaries ! 

Hail Art sublime, with whom thy sisters vie, 

Each in her province, limited in thine. 

And there perchance excel. — Yet, why excel ? 

Did e'er the little hill obscure with shade 

The mountain's towering height ? The chiselled stone 

May awe the rapt beholder to its like ; 

The canvas, glowing with consummate skill. 

May almost seem to breathe ; and harmony. 

From heav'n descending, may the soul convey 

To regions of ecstatic bliss ; but thou, 

Above, uniting all, canst best awake 

To full conception of the varied charms 

Illuminating nature's every page. 

Is there within thy crowded ranks no soul 
So fired with inspiration, as to show 
How high thy excellence, and thus arouse, 
A nation to her day superior 1 
Have Homer, Dante, Milton, each his time, 
Raised, in thy name, a monument of praise, 
And is the day afar when, for this land, 
This foster land of Liberty, and Thee, 
3 



34 THE POETRY OF OBSERVATIO^T. 

Blest with accumulated light of years, 
And basking in prosperity's mid noon, 
One shall arise, with eagle wings, to fix 
The standard of thy glory on her hills ? 

suffer not thy name's disgrace with us ! 
Thou who hast helped us hitherward so far ; 
Let not a people to thy charms be numb, 
Drunk with utility, and venal art. 
And rushing, like the madman, heedless where. 

Thou mighty one to lift our human life 
From the low cares that would o'ergrow us here, 
As thorns o'ergrow the fallen of the wood. 
Let not thy sweetest influence depart. 
But lead us long to seek the beautiful, 
And nurse the gentle, feeling all its force. 
Oh ! give thy devotees to see, in these. 
The purpose, and the scope of thy great gift, 
And ne'er, because more keen to feel thy joys. 
Go bowed, with self-made sorrow, sadd'ning all. 
Through thee may Ave behold Him glorious, 
And, seeing, own, love, worship, and obey. 
Who reverently seek thine aid inspire ; 
Let all who, frivolous, profane thy courts, 



THE POETRY OF OBSERVATION. 35 

Perceive their folly and thy just offence, 
And if, unseemly, I shall hither come. 
With vain oblation, from a heart unwarmed, 
Hide not thy frowns, but let my voice be dumb. 



36 



INTRODUCTORY FOR A LADY'S ALBUM. 



The joys of youth are blooming, friends, 

Though tares begin to spring ; 
While skies are yet illuming, friends, 

Your gifts for memory bring. 

As friendship's flowers, here press them, friends. 

They shall not soon decay ; 
Years hence I still will bless them, friends. 

While you are far away. 



37 



THE MERRY TRAVELLER. 



One day, as I journeyed, alone, o'er the plain, 
I met one who bore, on his shoulder, and cane, 
A wallet that weighed him nigh down to the earth, 
Yet, he trudged on as gay as though freighted with 
mirth. 

With burden so heavy, pray how can you sing 1 
I exclaimed, as we met ; with the air of a king. 
He replied. If it only were twice as much more, 
It were merrier borne ; and he sang, as before, 

This world is a wearisome burden of cares. 
But Cheerfulness eases the shoulder that bears ; 
Contentment and Love lighten every one's load, 
And level all hills in the traveller's road. 



38 



A GREETING TO THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE, 



IN IMITATION OF THE SONG OF THAT BIRD. 



Gay little Oriole, herald of Spring, 
Welcome again, Avith your glistening wing ! 

Sweet, 
Though we lamented you all winter long. 
Quit are we, now, in your sprightlier song. 

There is your pensile cot, just as it hung, 
High in the elm, where you cheerily sung ; 

Sweet, 
Just as it hung of yore, Avhen, nestling there. 
You and your little ones swung in the air. 

While you were far away, often there came 
Blasts wildly fierce, but your cot is the same ; 

Sweet, 
Say, if you placed it there, your little bill, 
Had it no help, save intuitive skill ? 



TO THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE. 39 

How, in our busy mart, — none others dare 
Venture their notes on its turbulent air, — 

Sweet, 
How can you, fearlessly, carol so gay. 
Out on the limb stretching over the way ? 

Just is your confidence, sing, and be free. 
Gaily your whisking flight mingles with glee ; 

Sweet, 
Safely I say, in the name of all men, 
Beautiful oriole, welcome again ! 



40 



SENSIBILITY 



' Dearly bought the hidden treasure 

Finer feelings can bestow ; 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure 
Thrill the deepest notes of woe." — ^wms- 



The sprightly linnet carols sweet 

Her ecstacy of love, 
And joys to hear its echoes meet, 

Rejoicing all the grove. 

Her gaily wanton wings 

She flutters, while she sings ; 
The frolic light, the frisking flight, 

Tell why the covert rings. 

But, now. Calamity's rude frown 
Has changed her joy to woe ; 

Ah ! how the pensive head hangs down, 
To check her bosom's throe ! 



SENSIBILITY. 41 

No warbler of the throng 
Utters more plaintive song ; 
The lonely wood, in mournful mood, 
Reverberates it long. 

Thus with the man who quickest feels 

Emotions of the heart ; 
Let joy abound, he soon reveals 

Delight unknown to art ; 

Let anguish seize his breast, 

What demons banish rest ; 
The wild wan eye, the struggling sigh, 

These are the torture's test. 

No lily of the lovely vale. 

No daisy of the mead. 
Is more submissive to the gale 

Than his obedient head. 

Tossed to and fro by sighs. 

Before the breeze he plies ; 
A furious blast assails, at last, 

Prostrate, at once, he dies. 



42 



THE II I V E II 



A Tii^Y, murmuring, glancing rill 
Comes, blithely leaping, down the hill, 
Promising cheer to vales below, 
Where flowers of every fragrance blow. 

Onward it comes, its gathering strength 
Deepens its notes, and spreads its length ; 
Then, winding through the flowery plain. 
Its music seems to sleep again. 

Down the resounding valley, now, 
Impetuous o'er the crag's steep brow, 
Rushing, it leaps, whirls, foams along, 
Ever more deep, more wide, more strong. 

Through the rocks' narrow passage passed. 
Expanding like a mirror vast, 
With stable pride become more slow, 
Main ward, majestic, see it flow. 



THE RIVER. 43 



Such is life's ever cliaiiging course, 
Sucli gladness near its limpid source, 
Infancy, boyhood, manhood's prime, 
Pass, and full age gives up to time. 



44 



NOW. 



Seize the moment, while ye may ! 
There ! — already 'tis away ! — 
Ever let the present slip, 
Fate will have ye on the hip. 

Present moments, steady, slow, 
Drop by drop, they come, and go. 
Falling in the ocean Past, 
With each tint we give them fast. 

Pleasure would us onward lure, 
But, her present smiles are sure ; 
Keep her promise ever new, 
Still embracing, while ye woo. 



45 

THE COURSE OF GUILE, 

A PARAPHKASE. 



When a stream's o'erflowing waters, 
Pressing hard upon the dike, 

Through it force, at last, a passage, 
As it were by point of pike, 

Eagerly, thenceforth, escaping, 

Piece by piece, the breach they wear, 

Rushing still, and still augmenting. 
Till destructive sway they bear, 

Dike, and dam, and bridge upturning. 
Fragments strew the sweeping tide, 

Roaring, eddying, and foaming. 
Mightier still, and still more wide. 

Such is Evil's rise, and progress. 

Give but way to guilty thought, 
Growing soon t'infuriate action, 

Who can tell the mischief wrought 1 



46 THE COUKSE OF GUILE. 

Passion's rage is strong, within us, 
Like a whirlwind is its force. 

Crushing, prostrating, transporting. 
Devastation marks its course. 

May my life be like a river, 
Deep, yet placid, in its flow. 

Through the flowery banks of virtue, 
Joy diffusing, as I go. 



47 



THOUGHTS WHILE BEHOLDING THE MISSISSIPPI 
RIVER FOR THE FIRST TIME. 



Hail, monarch river ! flowing 

Sublime, in majesty, 
And, in tliy prond course, showing 

Heav'n's ever wise decree ! 
All hail ! When, from the great first Source, 

Atoms to being sprung. 
All things for good assumed their course, 

And all creation sung. 
Submissively, thy onward wave, 

To the harmonious plan. 
Commenced these bordering crags to lave. 

In lessons fit for man. 
Onward, still onward, from that birth, 

Has rolled thy mighty flood. 
Peerless among the streams of earth. 

Teaching, All things fou good. 



48 THOUGHTS ON THE MISSISSIPPI. 

Thus ceaseless, dutiful, and calm, 

Will I my task pursue ; 
Grant, holy Sire, thy living charm, 

Thy light, to cheer me through. 
Show what in me thy plan designed. 

What good, what sapient end. 
That, with concentered might and mind, 

I thitherward may tend. 
Though lowly be my station here. 

Help me that sphere to fill ; 
When erring quickly draw me near, 

To know Thy honored will. 
Assist my steps, direct my way, 

Be Thy approval mine ; 
And, if I reach the realms of day, 

The praise, the glory thine. 



49 



WISDOM UNHEEDED, 



A DREAM OF THE OLDEN TIME. 



The clear stream sang joyous, as, early in May, 
I was rambling where pastures all blossoming lay ; 
The youths and the maidens had wakened the morn, 
And their laughter rang blithe as the glad hunter's 
horn. 

Overlooking the sports, on the cliff stood a sage, 
The soft breezes lifting lavs few locks of age ; 
Approaching with rev'rence, I said that the mirth 
Seemed to rise like the chorus of anthems from earth. 

Yes ! yes ! he replied ; hopes are now springing forth, 
Neither feeling nor fearing the blasts of the North ; 
As blossoms with fragrance, as warblers with song, 
Every heart should its praises with gladness prolong. 



50 WISDOM UNHEEDED. 

But few moons had changed o'er the hopes daily 

wrecked, 
When the church was illumined, the altar was decked ; 
The flush of the j^outh spake the joy of his pride, 
As he clasped the fair hand of his beautiful bride. 

The sire, in bestowing, his blessing had given, 

(3h ! forsake not your treasure, true love is from 

heaven ; 
])e hers a protector, be his, for his own. 
And with fresh flowers your pathway will ever be 

strewn. 

The ring was exchanged, and the ritual done ; 

A petition was ofi'ered, — the two hearts were one ; 

Soon the guests were engaged in the feast, and the 

dance. 
Every pulse throbbing joyous, and bright'ning each 

glance. 

That father was first in the festival scene, 
Wisdom beaming with joy in his courteous mien ; 
yiy heart became warm towards the old man, for- 
sooth. 
While I saw him rejoice, as again in his youth. 



WISDOM UNHEEDED. 51 

We parted. Years passed. Times of trouble were nigh ; 
Every glance met its fears in an answering eye ; 
But beauty was flashing, and music was loud, 
In the banqueting halls of the noble, and proud. 

O'erlooking the revel, the sage stood apart, 

"With emotions of sorrow convulsing his heart ; 

For treasures of wisdom again I drew near, 

And besought him to look not with gloom on the cheer. 

He answered, My friend is, with innocence, kind, 
But such gayety suits not my comfortless mind ; 
Then, turning, he seemed as if loath to remain, 
And I pressed him the cause of his grief to explain. 

He said, You have known me for pleasure give room. 
Without joy in this world, we should sink 'neath its 

gloom ; 
But life gathers cares, and when reason is mocked, 
The sad offspring of madness are fatally rocked. 

In life I have wandered through many a scene. 
And from careful experience certainty glean, 
That the higher their joy is, the deeper the woe, 
Over which men are sporting, on arches of snow. 



52 WISDOM UNHEEDED. 

Thus ending, he turned from the revelry's din ; 
I saw him no more, he was ne'er seen again ; 
But the horrors of war, like an avalanche, came. 
Till the rivers ran blood, and the fields were aflame. 

The tyrant, as wolves lie in wait for the night. 
When, secure, they may rush to their horrid delight. 
The tyrant, long prowling, had watched for the hour. 
When the pride of the free might be whelmed by his 
power. 

Then the knight, as, in dust and blood, gasping he 

lay, 
Saw his glittering bride from her halls dragged away ; 
And peasants, whose harvests had promised them 

bread. 
For their wives, and their children, had envied the 

dead. 

Then all, in their anguish, remembered their fears. 
And the words of the sage as he warned them, with 

tears ; 
Too late they repented that folly was blind, 
Too late mourned o'er passion subverting the mind. 



53 



SONG OF THE SAILOR. 



Life, like a sea, before us lies, 
Whose passage we must make ; 

To hazard shall we trust our helm 1 
Or chart, and compass take 1 

There's many currents, many straits, 

Full oft will syrens lure, 
Shallows and rocks lurk here and there. 

And storms we must endure. 

say, amid these dangers all, 

Beset with beacons vain. 
Say, who may keep us safe in course. 

The port of bliss to gain 1 

Let Principle be chosen first. 

Our pilot, and his crew, 
Love, Honor, Wisdom, and strong Faith, 

Will bring all safely through. 



54 SONG OF THE SAILOR. 

Determined evil to abhor, 
And firmly trust in Good, 

Honor and Faith strive, side by side, 
And cannot be withstood. 

But every sail that cannot show 
Wisdom, and Love, on deck. 

By passion storms, or pirate arts. 
Will soon be made a wreck. 



55 



A HYMN IN PROSPECT OF DEATH. 



I AM passing away to be with ye no more, 
I am passing where many found passage before, 
From the lightness, the sadness, the madness of earth, 
I escape to the realms where no sorrow has birth. 

how pleasantly hope once illumined life's day, 
With its promise of peace not afar in my way ; 
Like a trav'ller in wilds where no water is found, 

1 looked onward, still on, towards mortality's bound. 

But my pleasure is lessened, as now I look back, 
That so few are the flowers springing up in my track : 
That I've scattered so sparsely good seed as I came, 
With the sweets of afl'ection embalming my name. 

Friends, grieve not that I thus must relinquish this 

life, 
Little worthy regret seem its toiling and strife ; 
To the living your care, and your kindness are due, 
'Tis the solace of life others' good to pursue. 



56 A HYMN IN PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

I but lay down this transient, this perishing clay, 
And my spirit, unburdened, soars freely away ; 
By affliction refined, seeks the home of the dove 
That descended on Jesus, the token of love. 



57 



INNATE LAW, 



A SONNET. 



With no fixed principles of right and wrong, 
The human mind is like a ship at sea, 
When, rudderless, it tosses, wildly free, 

Borne by tumultuous elements along. 

'Tis like a mansion where no guage is hung, 
Noting the weather's change, with silent tongue ; 

Often the occupant's conceit is wrong, 

Inured to heat, all things not hot seem cold ; 
Inured to cold, all things not cold are hot. 

Agues benumb his nerves' fastidious throng. 
Their touch grows dubious as he grows old, 
And there are moments when all sense is not. 

( 'onscience, with most, is but a fickle guide ; 
Enlightened love, and law, with Reason should preside. 



58 



SONG OF THE FORTUNE SEEKER. 



O I SIGH for a home, my own only home, 

Away from the world's petty cares, 
Where, 'mid plenty, and peace, I may live at my ease, 

And escape these temptations, and snares. 

O I sigh for a queen, my own only queen, 

To reign in my home, and my heart, 
Thence to dissipate gloom, banish care to its doom. 

And rob every sting of its smart. 

With my queen on her throne, her own only throne 

Of love, the dispenser of bliss. 
In the flush of my pride, I would steal to her side, 

And ask. Where is pleasure like this ? 

Thus, while cherishing joy, our own only joy, 

In the fondest endearments of love, 
We would revel each day, as it passes away. 

Till called to the lonor home above. 



SONG OF THE FORTUNE SEEKER. 59 

O I sigh for a home, my own only home, 

Away from the cares of the world, 
With my own charming wife, there to pass over life, 

With pleasure's gay banner unfurled. 



60 



THE CATHOLIC FAITH. 



In earth below, in heaven above, 
Of all the powers, there's none like love. 
To vice a true reforming rod, 
There's nothing lures to greater woe, 
It made of Christ a very God, 
Yet, Goodness may no greater foe. 
Its smile is like the heav'n of heaven. 
Its glance like but once dawning light, 
Its tones, like lightning, hearts have riven, 
Its frown at once brings deadly night. 
Of all the powers there's none like love, 
In earth below, or heaven above. 



61 



THE PERSUASION. 



Dearest Helen, loveliest fair, 
Object of all my joy, my care, 
Still more and more my heart you share, 

As day succeeds to day. 
Behold, my love ; a season's birth 
Is promised, in this change of earth ; 
It calls us from our Winter's hearth. 

To hail another May. 
Yes ! the pleasant spring-time. 
The joyous, flower-decked spring-time, 
The heart-awakening spring-time 

Comes hastening on with May : 

You know, love, 'twas in May we met, 
A year since ; I shall ne'er forget 
The hour I thought me happy, yet, 
It brings but sorrow, now. 



62 THE PERSUASION. 

As earth grows fair tlie sun before, 
Our huskings, and our quiltings o'er, 
My Helen's presence cheers no more. 

While I resume the plough. 
Yes ! the pleasant spring-time, 
The merry, laughing, spring-time, 
'Tis coming, unlike spring-time, 

To bring me sorrow, now. 

But I have, late, been thinking, love, 
Such misery is not sealed above. 
And, yesterday, methought a dove 

The same assured her mate ; 
Beside, aye, when from toil I come, 
It seems a thatch would prove a dome. 
If Helen, to our mutual home. 

Could welcome, at the gate. 
In the pleasant spring-time, 
The heart-refreshing spring-time, 
If Helen, in the spring-time, 

Could meet me, by the gate. 

I have a little field, my own, 
A cottage near will suit love's throne, 
A mountain brook, with silvery tone, 
Comes murmuring by the door. 



THE PERSUASION. 63 

There woodbine, jasmine, broom, and sage, 
Our nurturing care might well engage, 
Till, gliding in the calm of age, 

We reach the peaceful shore. 
Where other pleasant spring-time, 
A never clouded spring-time, 
A blissful, Eden spring-time. 

Is waiting, evermore. 

Then say, love, will ye join with me, 
To cross the sometimes troubled sea ? 
Say, shall the pleasant 'spring-time be 

Our birth-date, as a pair ? 
The birds will all be singing, then, 
The flowers will all be springing, then, 
And I shall be so happy, then, 

With my own sweet Helen there ! 
O the pleasant spring-time. 
The dear sweet-breathing spring-time, 
What season's like the spring-time, 

For plighted loves to pair 1 

— The hoary plain was flashing bright. 
Her mother's cot grew full in sight. 
The moon beheld us there alight, 
I pressed her for my fate ; 



64 THE PERSUASION. 

O then how quick all sorrow fled ! 
As blushingly hung down her head, 
All trembling in my arms she said 

I'll meet you by the gate ! 
And since that eve the spring-time, 
The joy diff'using spring-time. 
Has been a happier spring-time, 

That Helen is my mate. 



65 



THE LOVER'S LAMENT. 



Now Spring has returned, with its beautiful green, 

And zephyrs all wantonly free, 
All nature is clad in her happiest mien, 

And nothing is sad, save poor me. 

Through the wood, by the clear-winding streamlet, 
I rove. 

And see the gay fluttering throng, 
Their notes are all music, their themes are all love, 

But mine is a sorrowful song. 

The lark and his mate, near my window, all 'day, 
Exchange their sweet solacing strains. 

They vie with each other to sweeten their lay, 
But my heart with sorrow still plains. 

This morning I rose, unrefreshed by my sleep. 

And, hearing the notes of a dove, 
I hastened to sympathize with him, and weep, 

But he, too, sang love, only love. 
5 



66 THE LOVER S LAMET^T. 

Ye swains who so carelessly follow your plough, 

Come see my deplorable state, 
And learn what I never have learned, until now, 

To pity one reft of his mate. 



67 



THE LOVER'S ADMONITION. 



Ah ! maiden, beware 

How you sport, and indifferent seem, 

Love, perchance, may despair, 

And withdraw so delightful a dream. 

A tale of sad warning is told. 
An accomplished and beautiful girl, 
Who loved, and was loved, seemed so cold. 
That her lover became a mere churl, 
And smothered the softening flame. 
That so many have trouble to tame. 

Sweet Zittell was of delicate nerve. 
Like the sensitive plant that will shrink 
From a touch at all rude, and, I think, 
When she felt love's bewildering smart, 
In her tender, susceptible heart, 
She grew coy, through the very excess 
Of those virtues we cannot wish less, 
And so came the seeming reserve. 



68 THE lover's admonition. 

But, however it happened, the youth 
Was impressed with a far sadder truth, 
And sorrowed, and sorrowed, a long weary while, 
Though he did, at the last, find it in him to smile. 
And she — Ah ! I wish every maiden might learn 
Ne'er to let a true lover like shyness discern, 
— When she saw that he came to the wooing no more, 
Nor found all his pleasure with her, as before. 
She got wild, and would wander about, I am told. 
Like a lamb that is somehow left out of its fold. 
And, of strangers, whomever she met in the way. 
Would hasten to hail them, and eagerly say, 
Have ye seen him ? hast heard of a dear little boy. 
Named Love 1 I have lost him, my darling, my joy ; 

where, tell me, where shall I find him again 1 

Is he famished, and cold? Does he stay with ye 
men? 

And when to her questions all answered the same, 
— Because how could they know ? — she would rave 
and exclaim, 

1 fear I have starved him, the dear little boy ; 

He is cold ; he is famished ; my darling ! my joy ! 
Sometimes, in the crowd, she would no one accost. 
But cry out, with appearance distressingly wild. 



THE lover's admonition. 69 

Lost ! lost ! the world's blessing ; lost ! lost ! Love is 

lost ! 
God bless her who finds me the famishing child ! 

Thus the gentle Zittella became like an elf, 
Rapt away, far away, in world by herself, 
And that only because she had seemed to retire 
From the first earnest flushing of tender desire. 

In the mad-house they finally gave her a cell. 
And there, to this day, she will visitors tell 
How they've taken him from her, her dear little boy, 
So cold, and so famished; her darling, her joy. 



70 



THE DREAMER'S SOLILOQUY. 



I WATCHED a dreamer's troubled sleep, 
Suddenly, starting from his bed, he woke, 

Staring, all wild ; he groaned, he could not weep, 
But soon his agony into accents broke. 

Yes ! I did dream I saw thee, sweet, 
That thou didst bid me to thy nuptial hour. 

That our soul-flashing, grief-sunk eyes did meet, 
Till each heart shuddered, at their lightning power. 

Ne'er shall I cease to love thee, love. 
Thou wast so fond, so beautiful, so mild. 

In comeliness and nature all a dove, 
thou didst love me like a simple child. 

Why, why thus fondly do I dream 1 
Why all these terms endearing do I use 1 

Why, in each thought, dost thou so lovely seem 1 
Alas ! far other would my misery choose. 



THE dreamer's SOLILOQUY. 71 

While here, in calm distress, I lay, 
On thy soft pillow is another's face ; 

His are the smiles once drove my cares away ; 
His thy sweet lips, and his thy chaste embrace. 

These thoughts do whirl my frenzied brain ; 
'Tis this that makes me, often, wildly rave ; 

For this I rage across the midnight plain ; 
'Tis this will rush me to the madman's grave. 

And hast thou ne'er a thought for me 1 
Do those young joys ne'er steal on wedded bliss? 

Ah ! never loves were happy as were we ; 
Never had purity so sweet a kiss. 

Why were we madly parted thus 1 
Why did we hear the tales of adder tongues ? 

Had love no power 1 Had truth no force, for us 1 
Had we no confidence, to bare our wrongs 1 

Could we at once all ties forget 1 
The smiles, the cares, the tenderness of love ? 

The grove where, oft, so happily, we met ? 
The vows eternally enrolled above ? 



72 THE dreamer's soliloquy. 

That grove is now a hallowed place. 
Rude was our bower, and rude our mutual seat, 

But there, full stealthily, with sweetest grace, 
Thy lovely presence made the flowers more sweet. 

And how could we forget the scene. 
When, parted for a time, by love's alarms, 

Sweet reconcilement being made between, 
We rushed, with rapture, to each other's arms ? 

But we did not in peace forego ; 
Not calmly did we quit those tender cares ; 

Oh ! there were nights of torture, days of woe. 
With agonizing love's wild pangs, and prayers. 

Yet, they did soothe thy wasting grief. 
With tales that gave love's searching eyes the lie ; 

By zeal they gained thy credulous belief, 
And eased thine anguish, that thou didst not die. 

Years have changed o'er our slighted vow ; 
Returning springs have seen my woes the same ; 

Thou art a wife, thou art a mother, now. 
And ! thy child must bear that hated name. 



THE DREAMER S SOLILOQUY. 73 

They say thou art not always gay, 
That he, who vowed to cherish, loves thee not ; 

That other grief doth dim thine eyes' pure ray ; 
That life is wretched, in thy lonely cot. 

— Still loved, adieu ; thou hear'st me not, 
Nor can I leave thee, whereso'er I go ; 

But, may Heav'n guard, and smile upon thy lot, 
Shall be my prayer, through this distracting woe. 



74 



LOOK UP 



Look up, friend ! Wherefore do you seem so sad ! 
As though you lost all hope you ever had. 
Art poor, say you ? and must with misery sup 1 
Fie, man ! hold up your head ; look up ! look up ! 

Who's poor ? save him who poorly does his task 1 
Or who is rich, if we lift up life's mask, 
Save him who has wherewith to sweet his cup ? 
And have you none of this 1 Look up ! look up ! 

Toil makes earth beauteous ; looking up alway, 
At Cerro Gordo, won the glorious day ; 
Many, from hovels, come with kings to sup ; 
And poverty finds cheer by looking up. 

Look up, yet not for honors of the town ; 
If toil's a burden you had best look down ; 
Look where you fall, there's misery in that cup, 
And foes to virtue never ought look up. 



LOOK UP. 75 

As worthless ware lies wasting on the shelf, 

He is neglected who neglects himself; 

Gold has its use, but iron Labor up 

Sends its light scale, in worth. Look up ! look up ! 

Make this your motto, and you can but thrive ; 
Good is above me, thither I will strive ! 
In life's great game, our chance is never up, 
Till death, or guilt appear. Look up ! look up ! 



76 



A PASSAGE FROM METASTASIO. 



There is no power sufficient to subdue 

A people steadfastly unanimous, 

With steel, with courage, and with reason armed. 



77 



AN AMERICAN ODE. 



Hail ! all hail ! with grateful tongue, 
Day when first the glad shout rung, 

Columbia's sons will now be free ! 

Henceforth Columbia's sons are free ! 
The day our sires withstood the power 
Who bade their noble spirits cower. 

Safely relying on their cause, 

On the God of righteous laws. 
They bravely said, men equal be ! 
We are. one, and will be free ! 

Yea ! peal forth our joy and pride, 

Sound it over ocean wide, 

Let it illume earth, heav'n, and sea ; 

'Tis Columbia's Jubilee ! 

Behold, now, Freedom's favored land ! 

This, the day that saw her stand. 
Boldly, before the nations, free. 
Alone, among earth's nations, free, 



78 AN AMERICAN ODE. 

Must ever be to memory dear, 

Where Liberty can cliarm an ear. 
Refuge for all the sore oppressed, 
Home of freemen once distressed, 

Land of plenty, hail to thee ! 

On thy birth day jubilee. 

Yea ! peal forth, dz;c. 

Hail ! ye shades of Freedom's host ! 
Who saw, yet ne'er enjoyed our boast ! 

And thou, beloved Washington ! 

Immortal worthy, Washington ! 
The saviour chief, the patriot sire. 
Who blazed Oppression's funeral pyre. 

And thou, devoted Lafayette ! 

And ye that with him nobly met ! 
Patriots, chieftains, heroes all. 
Hail ! who sprang at Freedom's call ! 
Yea ! peal forth, &lc. 

Lo ! from Bunker's height they come ! 
Hushed, now, Savannah's thunder drum. 

Enrobed in glory see them bleed ! 

In glory see them nobly bleed ! 
From Trenton, Monmouth, Brandywine, 
Martyrs to Freedom rise divine. 



AN AMERICAN ODE. 79 

Behold sad Saratoga's plains ! 

Yorktown view ! No tyrant reigns : 
Freedom's eagle spreads her wings ! 
Freemen's shout the triumph rings. 
Yea ! peal forth, &c. 

Ye, our sires, who nobly live. 
Glory, honor, thus we give ! 

Your fortunes, lives, and honors pledged, 

Fortune, and Life, and Honor pledged. 
Obtained our boon, and legacy, 
Columbia's boast, a people free. 

High was the price the blessing cost. 

Fortune, life, full many lost ; 
Yet, we pledge our own, as free, 
Ere the prize shall cease to be. 
Yea ! peal forth, &c. 



80 



THE SNOW-STORM. 



From the recollection of a school exercise, in the winter of 1833, at South 
Reading, under the tuition of P. H. Sweetser, Esq. to whom it is respect- 
fully inscribed. 



The leafless trees are motionless, 

The winds no chorus blow, 
The morn's keen air, with vividness, 

To frost-full seems for snow. 
Yet, snow-flocks, now and then, are seen, 

Like feathers slow descend. 
Although their mild, unearnest mien 

No snow-storm would portend. 

To watch these heralds from the North, 

Now falling more and more. 
We boys, mth boldness, venture forth, 

A moment, from the door. 
And, ere they vanish, 'neath our gaze. 

The divers crystals shine. 
With purer brightness than the blaze 

Of gems from Indian mine. 



THE SNOW-STORM. 81 

Now, finer, faster, and less few, 

They thickly fill the air. 
And we can see, the window through, 

But snow, snow, everywhere. 
Beside white beasts, with clogging wheels. 

The wagoner wades slow. 
Still urging on, as, with glad peals, 

Past him the sleigh bells go. 

Thus morning, noon, and after, pass ; 

Content at home to stay, 
We younger ones, a little class, 

Recite the while away ; 
Or, 'mong old lumber in the loft, 

Bring wondrous things to light, 
Till, tired of play, perchance, as oft, 

I steal away, to write. 

But hark ! the rising winds I hear. 

Come to dispel the storm ; 
And their wild sportings much I fear, 

Will wreaths fantastic form. 
— The storm is o'er ! the winds are spent ; 

Forth looks the setting sun. 
Placid, 'neath clouds, and I, content, 

To clearing paths must run. 
6 



82 



THE SLEIGH RIDE. 



Come ! tlie moonbeams are glancing ; with ready- 
steeds prancing, 

The land-shallop waits, at the door ; 
Hearts akin to the lark, let us gaily embark, 

Heed Winter's keen pinching no more. 

In winter 'tis time to be gay. 

Love glows with a quickening ray, 
But our tight Northern air, makes the heart alone 
bare. 

Come ! come ! let us quickly away ! 

At the whip's sounding thwack, now we speed o'er 
the track, 

'Mid joyous confusion of bells. 
And the shrill creaking snow, as we rapidly go, 

The mingling wild harmony swells. 



THE SLEIGH HIDE. 83 

The music of mirtli is as light 
As rays from the army of night, 
While they play on the snow, with a luminous glow, 
And radiate witching delight. 

We skim over the lea, like a bird of the sea ; 

That music illumines the soul, 
And the sparkles of wit, the enlightened emit 

Spread gayety over the whole. 

A humorous frolicsome throng. 

Loud laughter is with us along ; 
To the point of the jest he replies with good zest, 

And now we all join in a song. 

Mingle cheerily bells ; your glad harmony tells 

Farewell to old cankering Care, 
And awakens mirth's strings, as it twangingly rings. 

To fling joy abroad on the air. 

Old Care is a troublesome wight. 

Keeping up a continual fright. 
But he'll trouble no more, till our frolic is o'er, 

So let us be merry to night. 

Round their tale-telling fires sit our matrons and sires, 
Some whirl in the giddy saloon. 



84 THE SLEIGH EIDE. 

But there's nothing more hale than a land- shallop 
sail, 
When Winter hangs out a gay moon. 
Then swiftly away let us hie, 
Beneath the bright host of the sky, 
And the charm of those bells, ringing through the 
glad dells. 
Shall herald our mirth as we fly. 

Thus we'll sing, as we glide, o'er the bright hoary 
tide, 

Nor heed the keen blast, as it blows, 
Though it tingles our cheeks, and, among other freaks. 

Makes purple full many a nose. 

If, haply, our bark overturn. 

And we strange confusion discern. 
Like a fresh breeze at sea, it shall season our glee, 

And make humor cheerfully burn. 

So swiftly away let us hie, 
Beneath the bright host of the sky ; 
Our speed like the gazelles, the wild charm of those 
bells, 
Proclaims how we merrily fly. 



85 



A HYMN 

IN HONOR OF THE " OLD MEETING-HOUSE " AT HINGHAM. 
Erected in 1681. 



The good old churcli ! aye ! let it stand, 

Untouched of modern art, 
An index of forefathers' days, 
When faith filled every heart. 

Its tent roof seems, 

With its massive beams, 
To scorn the touch of time, 

And its turret's grace, 

From that wide-spread base. 
Uplifts our thoughts sublime. 

Up from that sacred burial hill, 
Where our fathers' ashes lie, 

It points, with earnest reverence. 
To their spirits' home on high. 



86 A HYMN. 

It bids us view 

A sturdy few, 
With hands united, heave. 

Those shafts to raise. 

Whose grace displays 
How mighty to believe. 

It tells us of devotion stern. 

And virtues sternly formed. 
Of pilgrims, with a union true, 
Their lives with love well warmed 

Of mutual aims. 

Of hardy frames. 
Of toil-earned ease, and health. 

Of earnest hearts, 

With manly parts, 
And one loved commonwealth. 

It tells whence grew our liberties. 

Of wrong, of want, and woe. 
Of zeal, of high self-sacrifice. 
And — of a lurking foe. 
As here they stood, 
Oft, through the wood, 



A HYMN. 87 

The whoop resounded wide, 

But, like of old. 

Their toil was bold, 
With weapons at their side. 

And there the tabernacle stands ! 

In a wilderness no more. 
But 'mid a throng of happy homes, 
Such as few could know, of yore. 
Aye ! there it stands ! 
By hero hands, 
So simple, so severe ; 
Its ribs of oak 
Tell every stroke. 
That fell with a faith sincere. 

And there it shall stand, — shall it not ? 

As ne'er another stands, 
A grand, and ancient meeting house, 
The work of hero hands. 
And many a name 
Shall gild its fame ; 
Where Hobart erst had stood. 
Gay, Norton, Ware, 
Blend lustres rare, 
• With Richardson the good. 



88 A HYMN. 

— And others, yet, shall give it grace, 

And still that pointing spire 
Shall turn our thoughts, with reverence. 
To heav'n's eternal Sire. 

But, oh ! while still 

It crowns that hill. 
Monition thus to give, 

Forever green, 

In their children seen. 
May its builders' virtue live. 



89 



THOUGHTS IN OUR CEMETERY. 



ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN THE HINGHAM PATRIOT. 



The following statement will explain, somewhat, to the general reader. 
In the Summer of 1847, a young woman came to Hingham, for the purpose 
of working in one of the factories here. She was a stranger to all except 
a young man, an attachment for whom probably had some influence towards 
her inducement hither. But she had not been among us long before she 
was taken ill with fever, and died. The kindliness manifested towards 
her, as related in the song, appeared to be worthy an effort of the muse. 



Nay ! let us not pass it so carelessly by ! 

'Tis the grave of the stranger, who came here, to die ; 

She was friendless, and poor, but she taught us how 

fain. 
By the toil of her hands, she would with us remain. 

As a dove, in the season of choosing her mate. 
Snatched away by the falcon, so sad was her fate ; 
A fair, gentle creature, whose day was yet new. 
Cut off, like a rose in the morning's fresh dew. 



90 THOUGHTS IN OUR CEMETERY. 

'Tis a beautiful tale that is told of her mates, 

Displaying how labor on loveliness waits ; 

That they watched o'er her sick bed, by night and by 

day, 
Till her kindred, to her, seemed no longer away. 

And when she had ceased, like a leaf early sere. 
It was they who provided, who followed her bier. 
To this spot, of this beautiful burial mount. 
And these flowers have lulled the same generous 
fount. 

O how lovely such scenes on life's pilgrimage seem ! 
Like an island at sea, or in deserts a stream ; 
And O how delightful our journey would be, 
If humanity's kindness were ever as free ! 



91 



LAMENTATION 



OVER THE LOSS OF A BELOVED DAUGHTER AND SISTER. 



Written on occasion of the Death of Miss Sarah Stephenson, of Hingham. 



And must the lovely die so soon 1 the favored ones, 

and fair, 
Who seemed as Heaven's delegates to lighten us of 

care ? 
A richer strain of melody, to mingle in our mirth, 
And add one grain of loveliness to life upon this 

earth 1 

Must our best hopes be broken thus ? 'Mid all our 

daily strife. 
The dear sweet home we cherished so, must that be 

robbed of life ? 
The bud we reared so tenderly, in hopes it long would 

bloom. 
To cheer us with its fragrant sweets, has it such early 

doom ? 



92 LAMENTATION. 

God ! it is a heavy stroke, repeated, and again, 
Thou sendest on our little flock, the same as other 

men! 
Yet will we bow before the Just, acknowledge Thy 

decree, 
Assuring us, amid our grief, that all, all is for Thee. 

And may we be drawn, by this, to Thine own self, 

more near, 
Communing, in our hearts, with Thee, and those we 

now revere, 
Whose joys, with us partaken, once, are ours, forever 

sure, 
As, in our lives, and memories, their virtues must 

endure. 



93 



LINES 

ADDRESSED TO A BEREAVED FRIEND, UPON THE DECEASE OF 
ABNER L. BAKER, OF HINGHAM. 



He who sits coolly to philosophize, 

And nicely weigh the bitter sweets of life, 

May say there's little an observer wise 

Would purchase, with its griefs, and careful strife. 

But if there is one joy above the rest, 
One that reflects a tint of bliss on earth, 

'Tis his, with wisdom's competency blest, 

Who loves mankind, and his own cheerful hearth. 

And if there is one woe surmounts all woes. 
And makes home harrow such a father's heart, 

'Tis when he sees, by death's repeated blows, 
That home's dear inmates, one by one, depart. 



94 LIIs'ES ON THE 

Such often is, and such, must often be ; 

And, yet, we know kind Providence is just, 
As lately said our stricken friend, while he 

Consigned a son, his younger born, to dust. 

Declining on the down-hill side of life, 

He gladly would have made its burdens light, 

Retiring from its more engrossing strife. 

In peace to near his grave, well nigh in sight. 

But, suddenly, whereon he fain would lean 
Away from him is ravished, at a breath ; 

A light extinguished from his path serene, 
A cherished hope laid stony cold in death. 

Yet, not for pain would we remind him thus ; 

Heaven has balm for each, its direst ill ; 
We hope his ripe years may be long Avith us ; 

That other happiness- his cup may fill. 

Not every joy is dashed from him, in this ; 

Life's sweetest solaces adorn his home ; 
And they who share this tempering of bliss. 

Know such must enter, be it thatch, or dome. 



DEATH OF ABNER L. BAKER. 95 

As doth a husbandman his golden field, 
Our spirit Father knows his full, ripe ears ; 

Into his garner, while they better yield, 
He gathers all, regardless of their years. 

How sweet, in such an hour, to feel we mourn 
One whose life's deeds no poignancy need give ; 

Whose little failings patiently were borne ; 
Who in the heaven of memory must live. 

'Tis when we bury our most loved we learn 
How to pursue our own terrestrial way. 

That we, promoted when it comes our turn, 
May die lamented, live beloved, as they. 



96 



LAMENTATION FOR ONE WHO DIED ABROAD. 



Written upon hearing of the Decease of Mrs. Nancy Gunnison, who died at 
Charleston, S.C. April 30th, 1851. 



We only know she left us well, in spirits, and in 

health, 
With promise of returning soon, to share affection's 

wealth ; 
She left with one just made her own, unheeding what 

its cost. 
Since mother's, brother's, sisters' love was only left, 

not lost, 
And he with whom she ventured, now, would be 

another stay, 
And find in her a comforter, on life's oft weary way ; 
And he would ever cling to her, aye, cling as to his 

life, 
And she would be the happier, a dear devoted wife. 



LAMENTATION. 97 

And thus they left us, full of hope, with not a thought 

in fear, 
With promise of returning oft, returning year by 

year ; — 
For well they knew how hard it was to see her thus 

depart. 
Towards whom a mother's early love had grown unto 

the heart ; — 
They left us for the sunny South, so rich with varied 

bloom, 
Where flame-winged songsters' cKeering notes rob 

twilight of its gloom ; 
They left us, there to make their home, to spread 

their bower of love, 
And, in such hope, we bid them go, in care of Him 

above. 

And, now, as we began to look, their coming to dis- 
cern. 

Friends say that all uncertain is, that she may ne'er 
return ; 

They tell us she is dead, alas ! and we must e'en 
believe ; 

Would that it were but feigned, — Ah, then, how 
time would undeceive ! — 
7 



98 LAMENTATION. 

For we can hardly make it so, that we shall never see 
The loved, who, scarce a half-year since, went forth, 

in hope, and glee ; 
We know but that she left in joy, with promise to 

return. 
That we with love were affluent, and now these tidings 

learn. 

Yet, are we not offending Heav'n, thus bitterly to 

mourn? 
We know 'tis well, though she has passed beyond 

our mortal bourne ; 
It is a blessing, we are told, to be thus sorely grieved. 
And he with whom she left, so late, is more than we 

bereaved : 
She has but gone where we must go, and easy will 

it be. 
When all earth's ties are broken thus, to let our 

spirits free ; 
But, while we tarry, we, like her, who looks from 

that far shore, 
Will seek and serve the good alone, still trusting, 

more and more. 



99 



ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 



Eliza has put off her clay, 

And taken death's white vaU. 
The deeds of her brief earthly day 

Leave little to bewail. 

A beauteous creature, full of love, 

With soul attuned to mirth, 
She seemed commissioned from above, 

To charm the cares of earth. 

Where'er, with her sweet smiles, she came, 

Joy filled each bosom there ; 
If winter- evening sports were tame, 

Eliza had no share. 

But once, the last she met with us, 
Chance, 'mid high glee, betrayed 

How, by fell Phthisis' tooth, she thus 
Would soon be lowly laid. 



100 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF 

Then every face was ashy white, 
Reading that sign of doom, 

In one so loved, with heart so light. 
In youth's full blushing bloom. 

She felt how certain death's cold hand, 
Yet still more sweetly smiled ; 

Joy still obeyed her magic wand 
Of tones so richly mild. 

The time of birds, and blossoms passed. 
Fruits did a while abound, 

Sere leaves obeyed the moaning blast. 
And Winter clothed the ground. 

Blossoms again came o'er the mead. 
And she, that fading flower. 

The fragrance of affection shed. 
As in her brightest hour. 

But now it was a waning sweet. — 

She saw the roses bloom, 
But when they ceased her fireside seat 

Was quit, for the still tomb. 



A YOUNG LADY. 101 

That place is vacant ; her fair form 

We cannot think of now ; 
Yet, is she dead ? — Oh ! free from storm, 

Dread void, say what art thou ? — 

That fragrant love is in our hearts, 

Those tones we still can hear, 
Her sweet smile ne'er from us departs, 

We feel her spirit near. 

And O methinks eternity. 

Where all the lovely dead 
Share heav'n, with angels, well may be 

Where such are never fled. 

Surely, no higher heav'n I know. 

Than thus to live, enshrined. 
When Death my spirit's slave lays low, 

In all good hearts, and kind. 



102 



THE EMINENCE OF FAME. 



I BEHELD a vast multitude striving to climb 
Up a slippery hill, by the highway of time, 
And among them no person was willing to stop, 
Until he could sit 'neath a dome at its top. 

Many struggled in vain to get up through the wood, 

And some just emerging despondently stood ; 

Some attained a good height, but, misstepping once, 

fell, 
And so bruised them they never could start again 

well. 

At the foot of this mountain, a valley obscure 
Gave sweet shelter and peace to the sons of the poor, 
Who delighted to look, from their distance below. 
To the few in that summit's perpetual glow. 



THE EMINENCE OF FAME. 103 

But they never, or seldom, on following thought, 
Contentedly toiling, as all of us ought. 
And I noted how some, both in works and in will. 
Far excelled a great many high up on the hill. 

And I saw from the summit bright messengers come, 
And seize up one of these to the beautiful dome. 
While a voice of -great pleasantness echoed around, 
It is not for my sons to jding thus to the ground ! 

But the secret of all an inscription revealed, 

It read. Genius has light which may not be 

concealed ; 
Let him seek only mekit, who labors and 

sings, 
And the angels of goodness will furnish him 

wings. 



104 



HAIL TO THE ROBIN. 



Hail ! hail pretty robin, that singest so sweet, 
That singest so cheerful, both even and morn ; 

With delight the sincerest your presence I greet. 
In the orchard, once more, where your parents were 
born. 

'Tis refreshing to hear those notes echo so clear, 
Now that Nature awakes, in her vernal array. 

And a something within I can audibly hear. 
Bidding me also join in so blithesome a lay. 

I thank the good Being, your Parent and mine. 

For exciting, in both, our emotions to sing. 
Giving me the immortal, thought-flowering line. 

To make life, in so much, a perpetual Spring. 

O, like thee still to know the pure impulse of song. 

May my soul be from worldly entanglements free. 
Ever cheerful and good, as life bears me along, 

Adding joy to the earth and its dwellers, like thee. 



